


Parkner Halloweek Day Two

by Malmignatte



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malmignatte/pseuds/Malmignatte
Summary: Day two: Spiders, Scary Stories, "I feel like I'm being watched."Yeah, I'm still gonna be late, but I may have 3 up here in a few hours, anyway.





	Parkner Halloweek Day Two

“--And her suit is _made out of Spiders! _“ Peter finishes his tale with a finessed raise of his hands and a bright grin, waiting for a reaction from Harley, who is simply sitting across from him on the other side of the campfire, looking as though Peter has sprouted a second head with the way that his jaw slacks open slightly. 

“Get fucked.”

“Well, hopefully,” Peter immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, the heat on his cheeks no longer only from the open flame. Oh no. Sometimes he forgets that Spider-Man comebacks are only to be said when he’s _actually Spider-Man. _

Aaand now Harley’s laughing at him. Because that’s his life. He can’t even manage one evening without saying something that is entirely mortifying. 

“Seriously, though… You must have stories from here.” Here being Rose Hill, Tennessee. They’re both currently sitting around a firepit in the dusty Autumn chill, with Peter wrapped in a down coat and a scarf and Harley comfortable in a simple hoodie. They’re there for Thanksgiving, because they spent the previous year celebrating in New York, but Harley has family back here, and Peter refuses to not have them around for the holiday this year (“You either let Mister Stark fly them to New York, or we go there!”). It’s sweet. 

Harley taps his fingers against his knee while he thinks about the local legends -- because, oh, there are a _lot. _People in small towns get really, obscenely bored. After a few minutes more of drumming, he leans his elbows onto his knees and fixes Peter with a look over the roaring flames. “I ever tell you ‘bout the Tennessee Wildman?” 

Peter doesn’t answer, so he waves a hand and continues. “He’s like a local legend around these parts. Like, if we had our own Spidey, but he’d been around for, like, two centuries. No joke. Two damn centuries.

“You ever drive through a remote location and you look outta the window of the car, and you imagine a creature running alongside you? Distorted, tall, feral?” Peter makes a noise, and Harley waves a hand, “nah, ‘course not, city boy. Though, guess you coulda done it on the drive here, but I feel like it’s somethin’ we come up with out here in the sticks, because eventually you get tired of playing spotto with roadkill.

“Anyway, when dogs go missin’, or women, and you’re out here? Or even higher up in the mountains,” he inclines his head toward the peaks ahead of them, “like, when hikers disappear? It’s the Wildman. He’s tall and strong enough to just toss anyone who doesn’t know to be careful out here over his shoulder, and they’re never seen, or heard from, again. Not until their bones are found, picked of flesh.” 

Peter’s breath hitches and he looks to the area around them; the Keener residence is actually somewhat substantial in size; it’s nothing to laugh at, but the paddocks are clear -- there are no woods. Still, he swallows, throat bobbing. “I feel like I’m being watched already,” he admits quietly, holding out his hands to the fire, hoping that the buzzing in the back of his head is only from the cold.

Harley cranes his neck to the side, looking over Peter’s shoulders and shrugs. “Naw, I think we’re all good here darlin’,” he reassures with a saccharine sweet smile, pulling out his phone, “smile for a pic, though. You’re lookin’ real cute,” he oozes. 

The smile that he gets is strained, but Harley isn’t taking a photo, his phone set to video, “just one more,” he reassures, raising his brows. 

“ _Boo _!”

Peter yelps, and almost falls into the fire pit when Harley’s little sister practically shouts at him, knowing better than to actually touch him -- super strength, super reflexes, she knows better than to mess with them. 

He turns around, wide eyed, and Harley is in hysterics on the other side of the fire, cackling, as is his sister. 

“I’m gonna die of a heart attack, and then I’m going to come back and _haunt both of you, _” he threatens pressing a hand to his chest.

Harley, still laughing, gets up from his seat and comes around to Peter’s side, draping an arm over his neck and pressing a noisy kiss to his cheek. “Naw, you wouldn’t. You’d be less haunty, more ‘holding open doors for strangers’. C’mon, let’s get you inside. And if you,” he turns to his sister pointing, “put out the fire, then I’ll make hot chocolate? Deal?” Apparently it is; no one can resist Harley’s hot chocolate. 

Peter sighs, pouting, “I hate ghost stories,” he grumbles, looking to Harley, “hey wh-- No! Harls! Do _not _send that to--” he makes a grab for Harley’s phone, but it’s too late. It’s gone to both the Stark family group chat, and the group chat for the AcaDeca team. Peter groans and thunks his forehead against Harley’s shoulder. 

Harley laughs the entire way back to the Keener residence.


End file.
